There was little likelihood of her identity being discovered, for
Cal Galbraith and the rest of the Old-Timers were like lost
children among the many strangers who had rushed into the land.
Besides, the frost of the North has a bitter tongue, and the
tender women of the South, to shield their cheeks from its biting
caresses, were prone to the use of canvas masks. With faces
obscured and bodies lost in squirrel-skin parkas, a mother and
daughter, meeting on trail, would pass as strangers.
The coaching progressed rapidly. At first it had been slow, but
later a sudden acceleration had manifested itself. This began
from the moment Madeline tried on the white-satin slippers, and
in so doing found herself. The pride of her renegade father,
apart from any natural self-esteem she might possess, at that
instant received its birth. Hitherto, she had deemed herself a
woman of an alien breed, of inferior stock, purchased by her
lord's favor. Her husband had seemed to her a god, who had lifted
her, through no essential virtues on her part, to his own godlike
level. But she had never forgotten, even when Young Cal was born,
that she was not of his people. As he had been a god, so had his
womenkind been goddesses.
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